So the Evil Corporation
by Duo Himura
Summary: Drakken's greatest successes, well, the closest he's come, have always been when he mixed his own brand of evil with that of big business. But what's this latest company he's taken over? And why might it just be his best plan ever, for real this time?
1. So the First Chapter

_Author Note: Hey, all, Duo here. Why, yes, I am completely insane. How kind of you to notice. _

_So… Kim Possible… I actually watched this show a bit when it was newer, but I stopped for some reason or other (most likely taking myself too seriously). I actually got back into the series _as _Disney did the giant finale (irony, that), which… was actually the second finale since the series had already died once and been brought back to life without my knowing… Anyway, I remembered something I'd forgotten, and that was that the show was… well just fun and kinda silly. Don't knock silliness, it's what Monty Python is, basically. So, yeah, I figured I'd never get involved enough to write a fanfic for this series, but… I had this crazy idea, so… you know how it goes. Point being… ah… don't hate me because I suddenly discovered I enjoy a show about a cheerleader who fights super villains in her spare time? I have no idea, really._

_Updating… yeah, no idea here either. This chapter took about a week and a half, but I'm absolutely terrible about updating anything, and, in fact, it's probably nuts of me to take on another fic when I have so many unfinished ones that I do actually want to come back to at some point. Regardless, keep an eye out every now and then (and I promise I'll update my TotA fic soon! There's really no excuse on that one, the next chapter's written already…) if you're interested._

_So yeah, for once I actually have nothing to talk about endlessly up here. I'm sure some of you at home are cheering right now. _Those _people don't get to read this. Okay, they can, but only because I'm desperate for readers. Enjoy!_

**Kim Possible: So the Evil Corporation**

**By Duo Himura **

It was a dark night characterized by storms and/or commotion. Rain poured down from the heavens seemingly without end. Lightning leapt across the sky to great cracks of thunder. Wind seemed to twist about all that it touched—rain, trees, people.

It was not an ideal night to be plummeting from a recently departed jet.

Kim Possible, just your average teenage crime fighter (which to be fair, is a very small demographic outside of Saturday morning cartoons), was hurtling nonchalantly through the midst of the storm, on a collision course with the ground some thousands of feet below her. She'd seen—and done reckless things in the midst of—worse. Granted none of those reckless things had involved skydiving in a thunderstorm. Also granted none of those reckless things had involved her parachute not working.

Free fall was not a new experience for Kim, though the fear that she could be struck by lightning in the process was pretty different. She sighed, hardly even aware that she had done so over the noise of the storm and rushing air, and began to think how to avoid ending up splattered on the ground. If Ron were there they could probably manage to somehow share his parachute. Of course, if Ron were there she probably wouldn't have been taking a jet into the middle of a thunderstorm in the first place. He got kinda nervous about stuff like that.

An inflatable raft would have sufficed, if the Mythbusters (that show was on almost constantly at her house—more for the explosions than the science, she suspected) were to be trusted. Likewise any of various rocket-based or jetpack-like gadgets she and Ron had made use of in the past would probably have done the job.

In retrospect, she was a bit on the woefully unprepared side of things.

At last, beginning to get desperate, Kim did something she would never have done under ordinary circumstances: she pulled out her cell phone.

No, not the "Kimunicator," the pale blue all-purpose device that was ever her link to her friendly neighborhood super-genius 12-year-old, Wade. Not the Kimunicator, which had automatic video feed, worked anywhere on the planet that she'd bothered to try it, and could run off of the same battery for some years at a time. A cell phone. A_ normal_ cell phone.

Clumsily she pressed the unfamiliar buttons with her thumbs, sending out a message in the most agonizing way she could imagine. At last, with a shudder, she hit "send."

She had just texted Wade.

Meanwhile, back in Middleton, a young, dark-skinned boy sat watching over a variety of monitors. The computer screens were the only source of light in the room—not especially good for the eyes, but it did wonders for the atmosphere—and at present, they were being largely ignored on behalf of some extremely interesting finger-drumming the boy was engaged in.

It was a slow day for Wade. Yes he had sent Kim to face potentially life-threatening danger, but that was pretty much par for the course at this point, and it still left him without much else to do. The fact of the matter was he'd ingested almost all of the information he felt was worth his time, and he'd already used most of it to invent something. Sure, when he found a way to make cats immune to hydrogen cyanide, he'd have a thing or two to say to the quantum physics community, but he was running out of cats, so he decided he ought to think out his next idea a bit more fully, and thus far nothing had come to him. And he wasn't nearly bored enough to read up on the driving regulations for Colorado. Such was his state of lethargy that he barely even batted an eyelash when he and the rest of the Internet suddenly learned that Dumbledore was gay.

Then he saw something that nearly made him fall out of his chair.

A window opened on the screen directly in front of him, bearing with it a message:

WADE

CANT TALK. PARACHUTE A NO-GO. HELP. PLZ & THX.

-KIM

For a moment the tech guru was too stunned to do anything. At last, he leaned forward and began to type furiously.

Meanwhile the meanwhile which so rudely removed us from the scene which we had previously been following until this meanwhile so rudely removed us from _that_ scene our red-headed heroine was still, as one might imagine, occupied in the task of plummeting to her doom, and checking her cell phone for new text messages every five seconds. Finally, her efforts bore fruit:

Kim,

Check your backpack for a small green capsule. Crush it in your hand. Should work.

Spending no more than a few seconds questioning how Wade managed to sneak new, miscellaneous gadgets into her backpack and why he never bothered to tell her about them beforehand, she extracted the desired capsule, a thing about the size of an egg, crushed it, and was rewarded for her trouble by being instantly immersed in a bubble of green goo.

The experience of being in a bubble of goo (green or otherwise) was one of the stranger ones in Kim's recent memory, the time the latest nanotech armor she had field-tested steel-plated her hair excluded (Wade's automatic rust-inducer had almost made up for melting her car's left wheels fixing that one. Almost.). She still felt like she was falling, but also as if she was being simultaneously buoyed up. The goo was definitely liquid, but somehow it didn't appear to actually be getting her wet, and she couldn't move through it very freely either. The outside of the bubble pulled inwards around her right hand, the one which had held the capsule, resulting in what was almost more of an apple shape than a true sphere. Her arm was stuck straight out at her side, but by moving it, she discovered, she could actually twist the entire bubble around, theoretically allowing her a sort of controlled rolling when the bubble was on the ground.

Kim barreled into the earth with all the force she had acquired falling from what would have been considered a safe height (with a working parachute) were it not in the middle of a thunderstorm. And suddenly she was traveling in the opposite direction, bouncing back up, maybe a hundred feet into the air, with no more of a jolt than that of a car stopping suddenly. Maybe Wade was right after all; she could totally see bubble travel being the way of the future.

Finally, after much bouncing, the bubble came to rest. Kim unclenched her hand, and, as quickly as it had expanded, the bubble sucked itself back into her open palm, reforming into a perfect egg-shaped capsule in an instant. She gave her head a quick shake—even though there was no moisture left behind in her hair or clothes (including what had been there before from the rain, interestingly enough), she couldn't shake the feeling that she should be completely soaked. She didn't have long to ponder this, however: the dark sky overhead was only too pleased to help resolve her confusion, and within moments she _was_ completely soaked.

_Wonderful,_ the teenager thought. _Now when I get home I can be the subject of another parental debate over whether there's any correlation between wet clothes and catching a cold…Well, maybe I can dry off before then…_

Looking up at the sky, somehow she didn't think that was going to happen.

Her gaze sweeping slightly below its original subject, Kim found herself staring at the immense building she was there to infiltrate. Somehow she'd managed to land barely inside the outer wall, easily 10 feet tall and painted in a "No, we really _don't_ want you coming in here," shade of white. A large, grassy yard spread before her, and then, with no warning, the building itself plunged upwards from the ground, stories heaped upon stories, yellow light streaming from the windows, piercing the darkness only to be reflected and refracted by the thousands of droplets of falling rain.

Yeah, this was the right building. She could tell by the dramatic narration and the sudden, inexplicable organ music. E minor, not a good sign.

Fishing her more preferred mode of communication out of her pocket, she asked, "Wade, what's the sitch on this place?" Wade stared back at her from the screen, barely repressing a grin. "…What?"

"Plz & Thx?" Wade offered in his best vocal chatspeak. Kim glared at him. "Okay, okay," he said through a slight chuckle. "Good news is that, since Drakken only took over recently, he hasn't had time to add any of his own security measures."

"Bad news?"

"They aren't… really necessary." A blueprint appeared on the screen to confirm the statement, showing, among dozens of other traps, a trip wire not five inches from her left foot. Carefully, Kim backed towards the wall, giving herself a bit more room.

"Any ideas?" she said.

"Well, you could try the whole diving out of a plane bit again and see if you can land on the roof this time," Wade shrugged.

"So not helping."

"I thought you liked jumping over stuff." Another glare found its way to him. "Sorry, been kinda bored here."

"Okay, next time Ron goes on vacation _you're _on sidekick duty."

"Ahahah…hah…hah… Yeah, that's pretty funny, Kim."

"Note serious face."

"…Man, you get cranky when Ron's away."

Kim rolled her eyes and shut off the Kimmunicator. Okay, so if she were being completely honest with herself, he was… partly right. Well, mostly right, actually… her mood hadn't been the best since Ron left to spend a week with some distant relation or other (that she didn't have a name wasn't _her _fault; Ron barely had any idea who it was himself). She'd sort of been hoping that the news of a new Drakken scheme would provide a welcome distraction, but when Wade told her what that scheme actually was the welcome bit had more or less gone out the window. Come to think of it, it wasn't very distracting, either. She kept hoping for Ron to suddenly show up and lose his pants or something.

Right, that came out wrong. The pants thing was just… a staple of their adventures together, and really more embarrassing than anything. That was her story, and she intended to stick with it, in spite of Monique's comments that she was, "so far in denial she'd better watch out for dead Pharaohs."

Deciding that was a line of thought best left alone, at least for the moment, Kim went back to examining the blueprint Wade had sent her. The security _was _pretty tight… The most logical choice would be to just go above it, get a bit closer and then grapple to the top of the building, but apparently the designers had even thought of that: the building's walls were designed to send an electric shock through anything that latched on to them, and for all the other things it might be able to do, her grappling hook definitely couldn't shield her from 10,000 volts.

Well, that still left her with one idea. It was reckless, dangerous, and probably doomed to fail. In other words, she was pretty much going with that one.

Taking a deep breath, Kim hurled herself into the air. She somersaulted over the trip wire (apparently connected to a series of concealed flamethrowers), cartwheeled between a set of saw blades that rose from the ground, gnashing together like some monstrous set of teeth, flipped hand over heels through what was a rather high-grade crisscrossing grid of lasers (she'd seen enough to identify them by quality), and finally, still in midair, fired her grappling hook at the building. The hook tore through the air, rain spraying off of it as it ripped apart countless falling droplets. At last it snagged on the edge of the roof, and the cable connecting hook to pistol went slack for an instant, then snapped taut. With a sudden jolt to her arm, Kim was flying towards the building.

Right on cue, the telltale blue sparks of an electrical current began to shoot down the grappling hook's cable. The sparks flew down the wire as she raced up it, the two locked into an unavoidable collision that drew closer with each passing millisecond. At the last instant, she released the handle of the grappling hook, thrusting it out to one side just as it exploded with crackling blue lightning.

Still hurtling through the air, now on nothing more than her own momentum, Kim tore her spare grappling hook from its holster, firing even as she drew it like an old-fashioned gunslinger. The second hook implanted itself into the wall right beside the first, dragging her up after it with another arm-wrenching jerk.

Rain relentlessly drove itself into her face, but still Kim stared, unblinking, watching for the blue sparks' inevitable return. She didn't have to wait long. They came faster this time, so fast that they were almost upon her. It was now or never. Along with a last, lingering doubt, Kim tossed aside her second grappling hook. Curling her legs nearly into her chest, Kim's feet found the handle, and she pushed off of it, launching herself upwards with even greater force. A strange tingling traveled up one leg as the shower of sparks from the doomed instrument grazed her foot, but she paid it no mind. The rooftop was there, just above and ahead now, and coming closer, closer…

Kim Possible vaulted over the rooftop, clearing it by a good half-foot. She landed a few feet in from the edge, stumbling forward a bit as the law of inertia rose in protest of her sudden stop.

Thinking back on it, it was a real shame that, after all that, she hadn't managed to stick her landing. Doubly so since, after staggering forward a few steps, a hole had abruptly opened beneath her, sending her plummeting into the depths of the building.

Kim fell into the pitch-black darkness of the trapdoor's waiting maw and at once found herself in what was, as near as she could tell, some sort of chute. It was a very Drakken-like touch… only, as Wade had said, there hadn't been time for him to install something like this. That thought served only to fill her with a growing sense of apprehension as she slid towards whatever fate awaited her at the end of this particular trap.

It was a fairly short trip; mere seconds later the chute deposited Kim on the floor like so much damp, world-saving laundry.

_Ow._ Kim pried herself off of the ground, peering around through strands of hair that had draped themselves across her forehead and into her eyes. It was, not surprisingly, dark, though not quite so much as the chute had been. As she forced herself upright—with far more conscious effort than she was used to—Kim began to be able to make out a few general shapes. She appeared to be at the end of some sort of table, which was framed on either side by a series of chairs, themselves filled by dark figures whose features she couldn't discern. At the far end another such shadowy figure stood, outlined against a window (as much as possible, under the circumstances).

"Kim Possible," an all too familiar voice said. "We've been expecting you."

"Dr. Drakken, you do realize that you're facing in the wrong direction, right?" a second voice, male, like the first, asked. "Miss Possible is over there."

"I'm not facing the wrong way, I'm just being indifferent!" the first voice exclaimed in its slightly nasally manner.

"Well, _I _can't see a thing. Let's get some light in here."

"No, no, no! It's only proper to confront one's arch nemesis in an appropriately dramatic way!"

"I agree with Drakken, this low lighting is _stimulating_," a third voice added. "Can't you just feel how it makes the atmosphere abuzz with tension?"

"Kiss up."

"Who said that?"

"Argh! Fine, we'll get the lights already!"

There was a clap, and suddenly she could see. Well, actually she was nearly blind for a few seconds first as her eyes adjusted, but after that she could see.

She had been right about the table, made of some dark, no-doubt expensive wood, and in the shape of a long oval with squared-off ends. The men sitting at it all wore plain, black suits and ties. Several were characterized by thinning hair, while others were merely beginning to show signs of graying, but they all looked to be at least 40. In spite of the room's sudden illumination, their faces somehow conspired to remain shadowed, as if repelling the light by sheer force of will.

The man at the end of the table, dressed in a flamboyant yellow tuxedo which clashed horribly against his blue skin, had no such command of light and shadow, though his face did wear a rather unpleasant smirk.

"Kim Possible," he addressed her once again, "you stand before the men who have absolute control over your destiny, who wield supreme authority over every aspect of your being." One yellow and blue arm swept out to indicate the seated men. "Welcome to the Council of Nine. Welcome, Kim Possible, to Disney."

"What's your game, Drakken?" Kim demanded with as much bravado as she could muster, given that she was about ready to collapse, and the fact that her arch foe had just more or less declared himself God.

"My game? Oh, it's quite simple. Kim possible…" the mad scientist took a deep breath, allowing dramatic silence to fill the room. With the force of an explosion the blue man thrust a single, pointing finger towards her, shouting at the top of his lungs, "You're fired!"

"…What?"

"You're over! Done! Finished! You've reached the end of the line _and_ you're at the end of your rope! You're all washed up; you're about to bite the big one and also to give up the ghost! Your number is up, you've cashed in your chips, and it's time to pay the piper! You've said your last 'What's the sitch?' grappled your last hook, fought your last crime, and danced your last dance! You have no chance to survive make your time, and all of your base are now belong to us! In, short, Kim Possible, you are to cease to be. You will be gone! No more! Expired! An Ex—"

"Dr. D, when you say 'in short,' you're supposed to _summarize_," a sarcastic voice called from… somewhere. Kim had actually been expecting to find the second half of her arch nemeses lurking in the shadows somewhere, but looking around, it didn't seem like she was even in the room.

"Shego! You're interrupting my moment of triumph!" Drakken said, shaking a fist at the ceiling as a substitute for the unseen speaker.

"Lot more than a moment, there."

"Shego!"

"Look, what Doctor Pierce here is trying to say is—"

"Never mind! Kim Possible, you are about to be cancelled! Along with all associated characters, properties, logos, and merchandise."

Well… that was new. What would that… mean exactly? And anyway… "Wouldn't that include you?"

"What? No! Obviously it… well… um…" Drakken stammered as the logic of the statement hit him with all the force of a freight train named failure.

"She's got you there."

"Oh, be quiet!"

"Well, to be fair, she is right," one of the seated men said with a shrug. He was one of the younger ones, with short, dark hair and a slightly largish nose. "If you cancel Kim Possible™, you'd basically be canceling yourself as well."

"You could try for a spin-off series," another added, "but that didn't even work for MASH, so..."

"It was still a good plan, Dr. Drakken," a third council member said, his voice practically projecting a wide grin across the room in spite of his concealed face.

"Rrrrng! Fine!" the blue scientist waved his hands in the air as if erasing the whole matter. "Maybe I can't cancel you, Kim Possible, but with ultimate control over your fate, you'll be helpless to stop me! I can do whatever I want! This world is my plaything! My—"

"Alright, no!" One of the room's pure gray walls burst inwards, leaving a hole large enough to admit a person, which it proceeded to do. "No more synonyms! Enough already!" Shego shouted, walking into the room. As was customary, she was clad from head to foot in her black and green harlequin patterned jumpsuit. "We get it! You don't need to keep going on and on about this! It's really annoying!" This berating went on for several more seconds, as was also customary.

"Not to interrupt or anything…" Kim interrupted, "but how exactly does this plan work if I just take you both down now?"

"Oh, I don't think you want to do that…" Drakken snapped his fingers. "You see, we were fortunate enough to entertain another guest just before you… if you would."

Kim whirled around just in time to see the room's double doors burst inwards. Two large, muscled men now stood in their place, filling the gap the doors had left almost completely. Both were dressed in tuxedos, with black, hooded cloaks draped about their shoulders. A pair of evenly spaced, circular protrusions distended the hoods, which completely concealed their faces. But it was to the man, well, teenager, that they dragged between them that Kim's attention was drawn.

He wasn't exactly tall, and was a bit on the scrawny side, especially next to the juggernauts who were lifting him up by the ropes that bound his arms to his sides in order to move him into the room. Another set of ropes around his legs and a gag in his mouth completed his prisoner attire, worn over a black t-shirt and gray cargo pants. His face was crowned by shortish, blond hair, and defined by freckles and a pair of brown eyes that were trying to put up a brave front. Failing, but trying.

"Ron!" Kim gasped. "You… you… you got here before me?" Whipping out the Kimmunicator, she said, "Wade… there'd better be a good explanation for this."

"Uh… well, it was supposed to be a surprise…?" the computer genius offered. "There was faster transport where Ron was, and I figured this was important enough that both of you should definitely be there, and besides which, you've been kind of… irritable…"

"And you didn't tell me that he got _captured _because…?"

"Ah… yeah… to be fair, you _did _hang up on me last time…"

"…Wade, we're so going to have a nice, long chat about this when we get back."

"Oh, Miss Possible," Drakken redirected her attention. "I hate to interrupt this touching… well… this… some-adjective-or-other whatever it is you're doing," he amended, "but I think it's about time you were leaving."

"This is low, even for you," Kim said, eyes narrowed. "Holding Ron hostage like this…"

"Hey, don't look at me," Shego said. "This was all Drakken's idea. I was in favor of just shoving him out a window and seeing how you reacted when you got here."

Kim stared for a moment, eyes wide. Her entire body seemed to freeze—she wasn't even sure if she was breathing.

Shego smirked.

"Miss Go, you know our censors wouldn't allow that," the man with the large nose said. "You can't actually kill someone on Disney property, certainly not seeing as you yourselves are our intellectual property."

"Well, you know. Some other time then," the pale-skinned villainess said wistfully.

"Mouseketeers! Show our guests to the door," Drakken ordered.

"Dr. Drakken," one of the men seated closest to the mad scientist rose from his seat. White wisps of thinning hair wreathed his head, and he spoke with a tone of authority lacking in all the others, even (especially?) Drakken himself. "If I may make a suggestion… Why don't we show them the S-Chamber on their way out? Show them what awaits those who oppose us."

"An excellent idea. Mouseketeers, make it so." A hand, enormous and with a grip like steel, clamped over Kim's shoulder, forcibly steering her away from her long-time foe.

"Wait." The cloaked man clutching her shoulder jerked gave her a painful jerk, and they stopped. Footsteps approached and Kim turned, guided by the monstrous, frying pan-sized hand, to come face to face with Drakken. It was as close as they had ever actually stood to each other, with Drakken's tendency to avoid hand-to-hand combat. Kim glared at him with an expression fit to send lions running, but the mad scientist just grinned. Leaning in close, until only inches separated their faces, he looked her in the eye and said, "Kim Possible. You think you're all that, but we'll see how much longer anyone else does!"

Kim and Ron staggered out of the building and into the night. The door slammed behind them. Rain pounded down all around them, but in their condition, they scarcely noticed.

Ron's bonds had been cut as soon as they had passed through the room that the Disney executives had called the 'S-Chamber.' There had been no need for them anymore: the teenage crime fighters had been shocked into compliance. They had gone the rest of the way willingly.

"They… they were that evil, even before Drakken showed up…" Kim stammered, eyes still wide. She could still hear it somewhere in the recesses of her mind, a chorus of the damned, the Devil's own music repeated over and over again, slowly chipping away at sanity, at all memory of happiness: "It's a small world after all… it's a small world after all…"

"KP, are you alright…?" Ron asked.

"Huh? Oh… fine… it's just… been a rough night." It had been.

They sat down on the steps of the immense building. Worse than anything they'd suffered that night was the knowledge that they had failed so completely, that their every action had been predicted, that they had been _allowed_ to know what Drakken was doing, because at this point there really was no way to stop it. Well… okay, that wasn't worse than the lingering effects of "It's a small world," but it was a close second.

"Ron… did Drakken just… win…?"

"I… I don't know, KP. I mean… we've always beaten Drakken before…"

"He's never been in charge of the show before. How can we go up against that?"

"I don't know."

The teenagers' shoulders sagged in unison, utterly defeated.

"Hey, where's Rufus?" Kim asked, suddenly.

"Oh, hey, yeah, he should be in my pocket… Rufus?" Ron asked. Reaching into a side-pocket, Ron withdrew the much-beloved naked mole rat. The two crime fighters stared in shock as the pink animal squirmed in his owner's opened palms. His arms and legs were bound together with twine; his teeth were taped down to prevent him from opening his mouth. Someone had finally thought to tie up Rufus separately.

To Kim, this seemed like an omen of things to come.

Disclaimer: No cats were harmed in the making of this fanfic. Naked mole rats were treated as humanely as circumstances allowed.

_Ending Note: Hey all, Duo here. Going to keep this one relatively short (well… as short as I ever make things) and get right to listing the potentially obscure references here, in as close to being in order as I can._

Wade's bit about making cats immune to hydrogen peroxide_: This is a reference to the famous "Schrodinger's Cat" experiment. I'm nowhere near qualified to explain it (that's what Wikipedia is there for), but the general idea is that you lock a cat in a metal box with a container of hydrogen peroxide, which is deadly, and a switch triggered by radioactive decay, which isn't entirely predictable. Therefore, after a certain period of time, it's equally likely that the switch has been triggered or hasn't been, and the cat is said to be simultaneously alive and dead until you figure out whether it's one or the other… I believe it's actually something of a sarcastic suggestion regarding how quantum physics looks at certain things, but again, I only have a rudimentary understanding. Point being, making the cat immune to hydrogen peroxide would invalidate it, even if that would be missing the point of the experiment entirely._

The Bubble_: This was loosely inspired by Jimmy Neutron's "Bubble-Travel" device from the original Jimmy Neutron movie. As a further homage, what Wade is implied to have said about bubble travel (through Kim's thoughts) is a take on Jimmy's line from that scene, "Bubble travel is the way of the future!" _

"I thought you liked jumping over stuff.": _Okay, so Kim only ever says this (to my limited knowledge) when Wade was actually with her, and his dialogue sort of implies that he hasn't actually gone with her on a mission yet… I dunno, pretend it came up at some other point or something. Also: don't think too hard about when exactly this is set. It's in Season 4, before "Graduation," somewhere. I may get more specific as time goes, or even change my mind about it being before Graduation, but for now it's in that unspecific timeframe._

"So far in denial she'd better watch out for dead Pharaohs.": _This is a reference to the fact that Pharaohs were apparently sent down the Nile in funeral boats leading up to their entombment._

You have no chance to survive make your time, and all of your base are now belong to us!": _A reference to Zero Wing, one of the most referenced… things ever. Seriously, most of you probably know this one. Note that Drakken actually misquotes the "All your base" line—this is deliberate, because really, he would, wouldn't he?_

In, short, Kim Possible, you are to cease to be. You will be gone! No more! Expired! An Ex—": _A vague reference to Monty Python's "Parrot Sketch."_

"Look, what Doctor Pierce here is trying to say is—": _Shego calling Drakken "Doctor Pierce" is a reference to Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce of MASH fame, who had a habit of going on extremely amusing lingual-based rants. MASH may have been a bit before Shego's time, but whatever. It's timeless! Timeless I say! Seriously, MASH is just hilarious (and some of the dramatic bits aren't half-bad either), go watch it if you haven't._

"You could try for a spin-off series but that didn't even work for MASH, so...": _Reference to MASH's spinoff "AfterMASH" which didn't do nearly as well, probably because it lacked the vast majority of the cast (I mean, really, after 11 years, can you blame them for deciding it was time to call it quits?) and also couldn't really make fun of the army and such._

Harlequin patterned: _For those who don't know, Harlequin is, in this usage, a diamond, checkered pattern, which is more or less what Shego's outfit is like, though most harlequin patterns use regular-size diamonds, and Shego's sort of…shapes them however it pleases in various parts. Also, incidentally, harlequin is used to refer to a jester and a shade of green which basically _is_ the color of Shego's outfit. Harlequins are also a kind of opera character (named after one particular such character) who are typically servants, especially to "vecchi" or "aged" male characters, who are themselves usually antagonists. They're known for being comic relief-type characters and interfering with their master's plans. Coincidence? I think not!_

"It's a small world after all… it's a small world after all…": _Obviously this refers to the fact that Kim and Ron were sent through the "It's a Small World" ride or whatever it's technically called. I really just wanted to say that if you say this in a hoarse, cultist chant-type whisper, it's hilarious. Try it sometime._

_Oh, and as a last note, Ronstoppable (dot) net's kpcrusader gets credit for inspiring me with this idea. He made a comment about writing a fanfic where Kim goes up against an evil corporation that would sort of be a metaphorical stand-in for Disney, and I was like "…Dude. Drakken likes evil businesses. What if he -took over- Disney!?" I don't think that qualifies as stealing his idea or anything like that, but I felt I should credit the guy for the inspiration (also for being one of the most scarily yet awesomely devoted fans I've come across in _any _fandom)._

_Aaaand that's all, folks! Oh, wait, that's Warner Bros., not Disney. Oh well. Till next we meet, upon the field of… me… writing things…yeah._


	2. On the Art of Being Vague

_Author Note: So this wasn't too bad of a wait, was it? A little longer than I expected, but then, this thing has been done except for the last few pages for around a week and a half, and I just wasn't able/inspired to write the last scene or so. My plan is to have another chapter out by around the end of the month (sort of like NaNoWriMo for people with Driver's Ed eating up 6 hours a week after school) if I can actually figure out what I want to do with the next chapter, since I'll have Thanksgiving break to work on it. We'll see how that goes._

_I believe I forgot to mention it before, so I'd just like to add that I don't own Kim Possible or any of the characters, etc., but since I don't think Disney is _actually_ evil, I should be all right using them for fanfic purposes. Probably. If you don't hear from me, assume the worst. But give it five or six months to make sure I'm not just screwing around and not writing anything again._

_In what I fully intend to become a tradition, I'd like dedicate this chapter in loving memory of Cartoon Network's DIGNITY. Seriously, guys. Goosebumps? You're ending Billy and Mandy _and_ Kids Next Door and you start showing _Goosebumps,_ a show that isn't even remotely animated? And into November, at that? Guys, Halloween was over two weeks ago, and _Goosebumps_ was over NINE YEARS AGO. Come on!_

_Side note: Translations will be included in the ending notes for bits where they are needed (trust me, you'll know). Now you have to read the notes, which I actually spend a decent chunk of time writing even though most people probably don't care. Mwahahahahahahahah! …Unless you don't read _these_ notes either… _

_And now, on with the show (that one's actual from Disney. I think…)!_

Kim Possible: So the Evil Corporation  
Chapter 2: Vaguely-Defined Evil  
In Which Something Really, Really Surprising Happens. Of Course, Now That I've Said That, Wouldn't it be Surprising if it Didn't?

_Beep._ The green line jumped up, then down, a pair of blue eyes tracking its every movement. Somewhere a machine clicked and hummed, spitting out its news on a thin roll of paper.

Dr. Anne Possible blinked sweat back from her eyes. Her forehead was drenched in the stuff, but she didn't dare divert her attention from the task at hand. The glowing monitors spread out before her and the body to which they were attached were more important by far than any personal discomfort.

_Beep._ The line flicked up and down again, a mountain and valley forming on an otherwise level plain.

Uncharacteristically, she gritted her teeth in frustration. Normally, doing this sort of thing didn't bother her—after all, it was part of her job as a surgeon. Then again, normally, it wasn't her daughter strapped to the table, reduced to a beeping green line and a few readouts.

_Beep._ Up and down.

"Dear…" It was her husband's voice that called from behind her. It was strangely thin, as if the sound had been wrenched apart and stretched to its limit, but it was undeniably his. "I… I lost Ronald."

_Beep._

Silence.

"W-what?" The intent stare that she had worn on her face peeled back into a look of utter shock. Eyes that had dutifully locked themselves on that thin, green line for what seemed already a lifetime, now abandoned it completely in favor of her husband, his weary eyes and slumped shoulders. "What do you…?"

"He's gone."

_Beep._

"Gone…? How?"

"I don't know… I just… I lost my concentration for a second, and… that was it…"

_Beep._ The computer continued to pound out its steady rhythm, as if nothing had happened.

"Well—Well don't just stand there!" she shouted, suddenly angry.

"What do you want me to do? I can't bring him back just like that!"

"You could try!"

"Hey, Mr. Dr. P., Mrs. Dr. P., what… are you guys doing?" A freckle-covered face poked its way into the living room from the kitchen. There was a brief moment of stunned silence on the part of all present, and then Ron Stoppable entered the room fully, a look of utter bewilderment on his face.

Here is the scene that greeted him:

The center of the Possible family living room had been given over to a large slab of a table, propped up to waist height by four metallic gray pillars. The young sidekick's counterpart hero, best friend of over ten years, and girlfriend as of just recently lay strapped to the table, bound at the ankles, thighs, stomach, and chest. Wires poked from her face and arms, attached to computer displays that had definitely not been there the last time he had seen the room. The monitors beeped and whirred, translating the activity of the teenage girl's body into a series of lines and blips utterly indecipherable to the uninitiated.

Meanwhile, Kim occupied herself idly drumming her fingers along the side of the table. In what small show of rebellion she could muster, the drumming was completely out of time with the beeping of the displays, making it rather difficult to concentrate on the rhythm of either.

"Ronald! You changed clothes!" James Possible accused, pointing at Ron's decidedly fresh-looking jersey and pants.

"Um… yes… shouldn't I have…?"

"Now our results will be completely invalidated!"

"Well, we still have Kim," Anne shrugged.

"And… this would be…?"

"Welcome to the Possible family 'Do wet clothes cause you to catch a cold?' debate, Ron," Kim said with a sigh, still forcibly staring at the ceiling. "This is what happens every time I come home from a mission soaked."

"Wow… my mom usually just gives me cocoa."

"You know, in spite of the sarcasm, Kimmie has something of a point," Mr. Dr. Possible said, scratching his chin. "Why _do_ we keep doing this? It's not as though there's any science supporting that being wet or cold makes humans more susceptible to viruses. It's just an old wives' tale."

"Which have some basis in fact most of the time," Anne reminded him.

"Yes, but isn't it enough of an explanation that a person can catch hypothermia through being extremely cold over a long period?"

"Perhaps," she conceded, "but you're ignoring some recent studies that suggest that wearing wet clothes for an extended period _can_ actually increase your risk of catching a cold."

"You know perfectly well that the science isn't entirely in on that! It's hardly something that can be tested in a controlled environment."

"Right, well, we'll leave you two to your debating," Kim said, edging towards the stairs. "Come on, Ron."

"Kim?" Anne's eyes darted to the now-empty table. "When did you—?"

"No offense, mom, but you're a complete amateur when it comes to tying people up." Kim gave her mother a half-apologetic smile and turned to make a dash for freedom, Ron just behind her.

"Kimberly Ann Possible!" James called after the retreating teenagers, causing them to freeze in mid-dash. "I expect your door will be left open, yes?"

It is often said that a picture is worth a thousand words. This was certainly true of the expression on Ron's face as he glanced back and forth between father and daughter. However, due to budget cuts, we're just going to go with, "It was pretty much like… 'WHAT? I would never—I mean, not 'never,' exactly, but—I mean it's not that I don't… but I-I wouldn't… well, if she… but you… but—but—but…'"

Kim just shook her head and resumed leading her now bug-eyed boyfriend up the stairs by the hand.

Shooting his wife a wide grin, the rocket scientist remarked, "That never stops being fun."

"Hey, we're not through, here."

"Well, our test subjects have both… Dear, why are you looking at me like…? Oh, no. No. I swore, _never again_! Just because we _have _the Absolute Zero Simulation Chamber in the basement doesn't mean that we should… and—and last time, remember, I couldn't eat anything except Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup™ for a whole week! And you can only say 'Mmm-mmm good!'™ so many times before it gets a little stale, so this is definitely _not _happening, no way, uh-uh, end of discussion. Period. Dramatic Pause. Scene change."

Kim and Ron had just about finished their ascent to the attic which served as Kim's room when an ear-splitting scream halted precisely one half of the duo dead in their tracks. The cry was something akin to the horrible wailing of a mythological banshee, who had been minding its own mythological business, taking a shower, when some less-kind likely-also-mythological creature had flushed a toilet or some such, causing a sudden rush of freezing cold water to douse our hapless and now wailing spirit. It was not a particularly pleasant sound.

"Wh-what was that?" Ron asked, eyes darting around fearfully.

"Oh, probably just my dad using the Absolute Zero Simulation Chamber on himself so they can keep debating the whole cold thing."

Ron blinked. "And… he would agree to do that… why?"

"Puppy Dog Pout."

"Ah."

"So, just give me a minute here, and I'll change," Kim said, reaching for the door to her room. "Unless you'd like to help?" she shot him a sly grin.

Ron, predictably, continued to stammer for several seconds even after Kim slipped inside the door.

"Rufus, is it something about me, or is this just a family thing?" The naked mole rat poked his head out of Ron's pocket long enough to offer a shrug (such as they are for naked mole rats) and then dove back into his lair. They had only been able to break the tiny animal out of his traumatized state at having actually been tied up with offerings of a veritable plethora of cheese, now residing in Ron's pocket, and the furless rodent was eager to resume his banquet. And so Ron was left to ponder by his lonesome whether or not this technically violated Mr. Dr. Possible's warning about leaving the door open.

Meanwhile, in a familiar den of corporate evil turned general evil, things were… happening.

Dr. Drakken, still clad in his blindingly yellow tuxedo, was in the middle of gloating over his latest (only?) triumph when several rather pronounced _ahem_s reminded him that he was still in the room with the other members of his newfound council of evil. He promptly stopped dancing.

"Dr. Drakken, I'm afraid I must express some… concerns the others and I have over this script you've given us." The man who spoke was undeniably advanced in years, yet his eyes—when he allowed them to be seen—and his voice retained a great strength. His face was set in hard, immutable lines, and crowned by wispy, white hair that was allowed to grow long in those places where it would still grow at all. His name is Gerard M. C. Stringer, and, in a few moments' time, he is going to reveal something entirely unexpected.

"Concerns? I don't pay you to be concerned!"

"Technically," another councilor, with a strikingly large nose and cold, calculating blue eyes, added, "you don't pay us at all. We all have a stake in the company automatically."

"Whatever! What 'concerns?'"

"Well… simply put, Dr. Drakken, you can't just 'win,'" Stringer said, unexpectedly.

"What?" For the second time that evening, the mad scientist looked entirely crestfallen. "What do you mean I can't win?"

"This is Disney, Dr. Drakken. We can't simply allow evil to triumph in our programming."

"It's bad for business," the large-nosed man expounded.

"It's bad for publicity," a third man, one of the younger ones, whose mouth seemed always to be smiling, but whose eyes seemed always squinting or closed, added.

"And people might start to realize our true intentions if we didn't cover them up by being the most family-friendly television network ever," yet another of the tuxedoed Masters of This Particular Universe Such As It Is said. He was immediately elbowed by one of his colleagues. "Oh… right… um… never mind."

"You see, Dr. Drakken," another man, the only one whose face still remained in shadow, began, "we understand that you're new as the Supreme Leader of Disney, and a new Supreme Leader brings with him changes. Change is good. But sometimes breaking away from tradition causes less favorable changes, changes which we aren't able to directly control, in ratings, and in the attitudes of our viewers. So we must go forward with change, to allow you to bring your own unique skills and talents to our family here at Disney, but we must also take care to change only that which, in changing, we will not regret having changed and desire to change back. Do you understand, Dr. Drakken?"

"Not really, no."

"You're as sharp as ever, No-Face." The man with the large nose nodded to his compatriot.

"Your compliment is greatly appreciated, Count. I shall not forget this kindness which you have shown me, and it is my sincere hope that someday I may be able to repay it in kind."

"Does… he always talk like that?" Drakken asked, eying the faceless man.

"He's our spin master," Stringer explained.

"Ah… and… the Count?"

"In charge of Accounting."

"I see…"

"Anyway, Drakken, I'm afraid we just can't accept this script," the Count said, shaking his head.

"Can't accept it? But _I'm_ in charge! I don't need _more_ sidekicks who don't listen to me!" Drakken jabbed a finger at Shego, who stopped filing her nails long enough to acknowledge the remark with a wave and a smile.

"Sidekicks?" Stringer's voice was like gravel made of steel being run through a garbage disposal. "I don't think you understand, Dr. Drakken. You may technically be in control of this company, but we, the Council of Eight," he paused almost imperceptibly, as if emphasizing the number, "can still overrule your decisions, acting in unison. And we always act in unison. We have been the driving force behind this company nearly since its inception. I ask that you remember that."

The fact that the Council of Eight were not so much under his command as not at all under his command came as a complete surprise to Dr. Drakken, though that it was surprising to him is not, in itself, all that surprising. After all, one could fill volumes with the various things the self-professed evil mastermind didn't know, and people had been at it for some time. Ironically, considering that he dropped out of college (and thus wasn't actually a doctor _of_ anything), The Evil Mastermind's Guide to Vaguely-Defined Doomsday Weapon Science for Idiots was not among the list of books filled with things he did not know. But I digress.

Yes, in spite of the fact that Dr. Drakken's people skills were amateurish at best, and at worst tended to involve some form of spontaneous combustion, he could recognize when the law had been laid out. And he wasn't happy about it. He wasn't really willing or able to do anything about it, but he wasn't happy about it.

"But… but you can't just reject it like that!" he all but pleaded. "This is my evil artistic vision!"

Off to his right, Shego cleared her throat loudly. In one newly manicured hand she clutched a copy of the aforementioned script, from which she began to read. "'Kim: Oh, no, we have been soundly defeated by the brilliant and handsome Dr. Drakken, supreme master of evil science now and forever, thus proving his superiority to us and that I am not really as 'all that' as was previously assumed.'"

"Okay, so it needs some cleaning up…"

"I'm afraid it's out of the question," Stringer said, the rest of the council nodding their assent.

"If it's any consolation, we did like your use of product placement," added the man with the squinty eyes, smiling as he usually did.

"Well… fine then! I've got supreme power now, I'm sure I can come up with another way to beat Kim Possible! Just let me think… Could we please kill the mood music?" The first movement of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony ground to a halt at the blue man's request, freeing him to think without interruptio—"And can someone shut up the narrator, too? I can't think with all this narration in here!"

"And this is preventing you from coming up with plans… how?"

"Shego! What did we say about giving me lip during Evil Plotting Time?"

"Look, Dr. D, you pay me to beat people up, steal things, and generally be evil. Which is great. But you cannot possibly pay me enough to quote you when you used the word 'mojo,'" Shego sai—

"I got him! There we go!"

" …Ah, much better, thank you. Okay, okay, I've got it."

"It's about time! Some of us have lives, you know, that don't involve waiting around for you to come up with some new scheme—which is probably doomed to fail anyway—all ni—"

"Shego! Stop stealing my thunder!"

"Yeah, thunder? You? More like… tin foil. Which you are shaking. Stop it."

"Hmph. Some people can't appreciate dramatic sound effects."

"So what exactly is this plan anyway?"

"Yes, do tell."

"Oh, it's a brilliant plan. Brilliant. It's full of sneakings and backstabbings, and knowing your enemies weaknesseses. It will completely ruin Kim Possible's image, once and for all! And possibly also her hair."

"You know, amazingly, I actually sort of like the sound of that."

"Please elaborate, Dr. Drakken."

"Very well. I shall describe this plan for you all now in excruciating detail, to ensure that we are completely clear on each and every facet. It's a complicated plan, so I shall be explicit, lucid, and even… succinct."

"Okay, the guy who gave you that thesaurus? Going to pay."

"Um, before we get into all of that, Dr. Drakken, perhaps it might be wise to let the narrator resume his job."

"It is getting rather confusing without him."

"Oh, yes. Yes of course. Untie him."

"Hey, hey, wait, what is he—? No, don't—!"

"He's going for the door! Someone, stop hi—!"

Meanwhile, back at the Possible household, where no one had ever done anything to harm the poor narrator, even when he made horrible sexual innuendo jokes at their expense, and where they sometimes even invite him to dinner when there's nothing more relevant to the story going on, the… the… sniff… I—I'm sorry, I just… I love you guys…

Ahem.

Kim and Ron sat side by side on the edge of Kim's bed. They were presently occupied staring up at the ceiling, attempting to come to grips with its recent declaration of love, which was, suffice it to say, unprecedented. The fact that their arch-nemesis was now potentially in charge of writing… them made that particular unusual occurrence rather easier to swallow, however, and it did not long distract them from what they had been doing.

"So… this is a little awkward," Ron said.

"Yeaaaah…" Kim agreed.

"Never speak of it again?"

"Works for me."

"You were saying?"

"Oh, right…" Kim paused a moment, regaining her train of thought. "I guess the only thing we can really do about Drakken taking over Disney is try not to worry about it…"

"KP, every time you say you're not going to worry about something you tend to… worry _more_."

"So not!" she said, jumping up from her seat.

"So so!"

"Well… it's frustrating, okay?" The teenage crime fighter started to pace back and forth and continued, "I mean, how can Drakken just… take over like that? It's way too clever for one, and… I don't… know how we can actually beat him like this. It feels like… like he's got us tied up in some needlessly elaborate trap, but this time we can't count on Rufus to save us." On cue, the naked mole rat poked his head out of Ron's pocket, glancing around anxiously. "It was a simile, Rufus," Kim informed the puzzled rodent, who retreated back into his khaki abode with a _humph_.

"Yeah, you gotta watch those around him, KP. Naked mole rat who understands English is already kind of pushing it, you know? Let's not make things more complicated."

Kim sighed. "It's a comparison between two things using 'like' or 'as,' Ron."

"Oh. Thanks."

Rolling her eyes, she sat back down. There was _something _that could take her mind off of the whole Drakken issue…

And so the beleaguered, belittled bersatrix and her beau did belay their blather about the bletherskate boman (?) who besmirched their evening, and are believed to be bonifying their bane by basiation. As such, it now behooves this bard to brand upon your brain bulletins belatedly.

The story of how the two got back to Kim's home was not the most dramatic point at which to initially resume our tale, however, in the interests of privacy it is in this moment which we now find ourselves.

This segment of the story is brought to you by the letter B. B: Benefiting by boons… yeah, you know what? Never mind.

A quick call to Wade had arranged for transport to return our not-so triumphant heroes from their mission, and a second to their families settled that Ron would be spending the night with the Possibles rather than heading back to his relative's place. It would, however, be a few minutes before their ride could get there, given the storm and the distance it was coming from. This left Kim and Ron to make their way through the dark and the rain (the traps had been disabled in what was probably meant to be a final insult to match the pair's injuries, but was actually rather welcome) to the main entrance of the complex. Turned out even someone who was perfectly willing to operate a helicopter in a thunderstorm, "wasn't crazy enough to fly into Disney property."

As they walked through the gloom, Ron recounted Kim with the story of his capture in excruciating detail. The short version was he parachuted (overcoming his fear of flying in windy, lightning-y skies in the name of love, or so he claimed) directly into a snare trap. He had been wrapping up the tale with an account of how his pants had managed to stay snugly in place throughout the entire affair, Kim listening without comment, when the helicopter flew in and landed next to them, just before the Gates of Disney (wrought from an unknown substance so black it seemed to absorb what little light there was, becoming a visible void in an already dark night). As if on cue, some combination of the sudden downdraft created by the chopper and the all-present, all-powerful force of Irony tore his pants from their primary accustomed position and finagled them into their secondary accustomed position about his ankles.

Kim took it surprisingly well, he thought. Though the smiling did make him vaguely uncomfortable.

The two climbed into the helicopter, Ron having restored his pants, and settled in for the ride. The pilot chose to give the two their privacy, noting the rather battered, defeated look they had to them, and so for a time they traveled with no other noise than the roar of the helicopter's blade and the occasional crack of thunder.

Several minutes into their flight, Ron developed a bit of a cough, which totally failed to bridge the silence between them. At last he said, "So, uh… KP… how's your week been?"

"Awful," she admitted after a moment's thought.

"Oh? Why?"

"You weren't around," she said, smiling at him.

"Oh, well, yeah, that'll do i—Oh!" Ron interrupted himself as realization dawned. "That's… that's great… I mean, not that your… but, that you would… and—and… um…" Kim silenced him with a finger pressed against his lips.

"I get it."

True to form, Kim and Ron managed to return from their adventure having learned a valuable lesson. Said lesson happened to be that unfastening one's seatbelt, even for the noblest of causes, in a helicopter flying through a thunderstorm was really not a good idea, and also that the more involved and time-consuming said cause was, the more risky this behavior became, so it wasn't quite their standard fare, but still… They only nearly fell out of the side the one time.

Back in the present, James Possible glanced up from his newspaper at the sound of approaching footsteps. "Well?" he asked.

Anne finished climbing the last few steps down into the family room. "They're asleep."

"What?!" The middle-aged rocket scientist tried to rise dramatically from the couch he was laying on top of, failing thanks to the many blankets which had been wrapped around him in a sort of polychromatic cocoon. "You-you mean—"

"Relax. They were both fully clothed. Holding hands, too. It was completely innocent, I'm sure. And kind of cute besides."

"But they're still—"

"Take it easy! Your skin is still extremely dried out, you could rupture something if you get too upset. Anyway, they were exhausted," she said, deciding to save the "they're practically adults," debate for another time. "I doubt they'd have the energy to—"

"My daughter—my _teenage _daughter—is up there with her boyfriend…" he trailed off, seemingly unable to finish the sentence.

"Dear, it's Ronald. It took him twelve years to so much as _kiss _her, for crying out loud! He didn't suddenly turn into Don Giovanni."

"He's still a teenage boy. I'd better—"

"James. If you go up there and interrupt our daughter and Ron resting up from having lost to their arch enemy, they won't be the _only _ones not sleeping in the same bed."

"You can't coerce me! I have my principles."

"You walked into a giant freezer."

"To prove a point!"

"_My _point."

"Okay, so you can coerce me. But still… what if they get the wrong idea?"

"Well, they _are _practically adults…" There really was no time like the present, after all.

"Anne! Whose side are you on?"

"There are sides?"

"Yes there are!" his effort at an emphatic fist-raising gesture was lost somewhere between a lovely checkered red and black blanket and an equally lovely but horribly clashing teal one. "Morality versus debauchery! Responsibility versus foolishness! Trust versus deception! It's like a D6… of values!"

"So we're going to roll dice?"

"Yes!" he exclaimed. "I mean no! I mean…"

Gently, she patted his still frost-covered hair. "You just get some rest, okay?"

_Deet deet dee-doo. _An all too familiar beeping tone punctured Kim's sleep like a balloon being run through by an oversized, polyphonic tone-playing fireplace poker.

"Uhhh…?" she said groggily.

_Deet deet dee-doo,_ the Kimmunicator insisted. Kim made an effort to slide across the bed toward the sound, only to find herself held in place by her right hand. Glancing over her shoulder in hopes of identifying the obstruction, Kim suddenly found her self rather more awake at the sight of Ron, sprawled out next to her. On _her _bed.

Having taken a few seconds for her heart to stop pounding away like the drummer in a mediocre heavy metal band (complete with the heart equivalent of banging one's head against the cymbals), Kim's normal rationality quickly resumed its—Why the Hell was Ron in bed with her?

Okay, so she didn't actually remember falling asleep. That meant one of two things: either she had just nodded off from exhaustion, or else there was some more sinister reason for her lack of memory. It did seem rather unlikely that she could have been drugged or something_ after _returning from the mission, but she supposed she probably wouldn't remember that either, so it remained a very real possibility. On that note, what _was _real anyway? If nobody remembered something, and all the evidence was gone, was it the same as if it had never happened? And if memories could be made false, then who she—or anyone, even—really? Did reality even exist as anything except the delusions of conscious beings? The past was alterable. The past never had been altered. Oceania was at war with—

Yeah, okay, that did it. She was definitely not reading 1984 again. Ever.

_Deet deet dee-doo!_ The Kimmunicator, frustrated at being spurned in favor of an existential quandary, pulled her attention back to the moment. Through no particular action of its own, it also reminded her that the fact that both she and Ron were fully clothed and situated somewhat awkwardly at the edge of the bed suggested that absolutely nothing had happened. Kim, probably wisely, decided to try and answer the ringing gadget rather than trying to answer whether that was more of a relief or a disappointment. However, it remained rather difficult to move with an extra person's worth of dead weight pulling on her arm.

"Ron! Let go already!" Kim said, waving her captive arm about in an ineffectual attempt to tear it free from her boyfriend's grasp.

_Deet deet dee-doo_, the Kimmunicator added. Kim glared at it.

"No… no… not the cliff…" Ron muttered, his grip on Kim's hand tightening somewhat.

Sighing, Kim inched across the bed, dragging her still-sleeping sidekick after her, until finally she was close enough to grab at the thing with her free hand.

_Deet deet dee-doo_, the device rang once more, as if to say, "Well, it's about time!" before the blank screen gave way to Wade's familiar visage.

"Hey, Wade. What's the sitch?" she asked, pulling herself upright with a last, determined tug at Ron's arm. Surprisingly, she actually managed to pull her hand free, though in the process its jailer was yanked from the bed and sent crashing to the floor in a tangle of limbs and sheets (though how he had managed to become ensnared in the latter when they had been sleeping on top of them remains a mystery).

"Uh…" Wade started, seemingly taken aback at the sudden noise. "You're not… still mad about the whole Ron thing, are you?"

The barest hinting of a devious smile pulled at he side of Kim's lips. "Ask him yourself." She pointed the Kimmunicator at the spot where he had fallen for a second.

"But… but… but you were… and—and that's your… and your dad…" Kim turned the device back on herself, grinning at the sight of the stammering super-genius. "Um… y-you guys didn't…? I mean… um… never mind."

"So what's up?"

"Oh, right. I called because Drakken and Shego have teamed up with Monkey Fist and Duff Killigan! They're downtown right now."

"Doing what?"

"Well, that's the thing…"

"Are they breaking any laws?" Kim asked, suspicions rising at the boy's uncertain tone.

"Loitering…?" Wade suggested.

"Wade…" Kim said warningly.

"Well… you'd better look at this for yourself," the scene displayed abruptly changed. Kim's eyes went wide.

"Ron, get up," she called, shaking him. "Come on, we have to go."

"Huh?" he said, eyelids twitching. "Oh, hey Ki—" suddenly his eyes snapped wide open. "Kim! But-but this is—! D-d-d-did we…"

"No, Ron."

"Oh. I had the weirdest dream. Something about… Drakken taking over Disney so that he'd have authority over the show."

"No, that really happened."

"Oh. So… last year at junior prom—"

"Yes, yes, okay? We kissed! We're dating! Jeez, do you go through this_ every _night?"

"I usually keep a list. But… you throwing me off a cliff because I forgot our anniversary was a dream, right?"

Kim rolled her eyes. "Come on. We've got to get downtown."

"You do realize it's a trap, right?" Wade said from the still-active Kimmunicator.

"And?"

"Just making sure."

"Aww, man, we're walking right into a trap _again_? I hate when we do that!" Still lost somewhere in the young man's pocket, Rufus vehemently agreed.

Next Episode Preview: 

Drakken's evil ambitions. The Council of Eights' true intentions. The things which we know, the things which we do not know, the things which the author hasn't made up his mind about yet… all of these weave together, into a web of deception and lies that obscures everything. It's sort of like the Inspiration Web from Hell, except that would imply some form of organization be involved.

Oh, and stuff's gonna happen in the next chapter. You should read it. It'll be cool. We promise.

Next time, So the Evil Corporation Chapter Three: The Plot Thickens, Just Like Campbell's™ Deliciously Hearty Soups. They're Mmm-mmm Good.™ No, Really.

Disclaimer: No middle-aged rocket scientist fathers to title characters were injured in the making of this fanfic. Err… seriously injured, I mean. Well… they got better.

_Ending Note: Ahahahaha. The first draft of this said that this bit was actually going to be short for a change, since there weren't a lot of direct references. Silly, silly Duo. I do actually say something that isn't just about some obscure reference or other at the very end if you…oh, who am I kidding here?_

The Paragraph of a thousand B's: _Presented right at the top for your convenience, because I know a lot of you probably don't want to read about everything else, but might be genuinely confused as to what the Hell I actually said there. The short, translated version is "Kim and Ron started kissing, so now I'm going to talk about something that happened earlier." A more direct translation (for those interested in the words… you can't Google "Define: " for some of them, though just Googling the word you should be able to turn most of them up) would be along the lines of "And so the worn out, put-down babysitter and her boyfriend stopped talking about the babbling, well-dressed (?) criminal who tainted their evening, and are thought to be improving their misery by kissing. As such it is fitting for this narrator to (by metaphor) tell you about things that happened earlier."_

The Council of Eight: _This is out of order just to get the clarification bit out of the way—when Drakken referred to "The Council of Nine" in the first chapter, he was counting himself among them, whereas Stringer emphasizes that he really _isn't _by using their 'correct' name, The Council of Eight. He's still CEO/Supreme Leader, but…I mean, come on, Drakken actually being in charge with no strings attached when his would-be underlings are both competent _and _evil? I'm sure somebody was thinking that that just wasn't gonna happen…_

Here is the scene that greeted him: _Not so much a direct reference per se as a sort of vague, stylistic homage to Alexandre Dumas (and others who wrote similarly, but he was the one I was thinking of)._

His name is Gerard M. C. Stringer, and, in a few moments' time, he is going to reveal something entirely unexpected: _Another stylistic homage, this time to __The Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy__, one of my favorite things to reference ever. I wouldn't quite call it my Bible or anything, though the super special omega uber-edition of it I have almost looks like one, but I think it's influenced my comedy writing style pretty significantly._

Gerard M. C. Stringer: _This character's name actually comes from a couple of different sources (his personality we'll save for later, he's going to do some stuff based on a few different characters). The surname Stringer is borrowed from Sony Executive Howard Stringer, not for any particular reason, just because I was looking for big-time executives whose names I could jack and "Stringer" just sounded kind of manly and badass to me. The M. C. unofficially stands for "Monte Cristo" after The Count thereof. It sort of goes back to an idea a friend of mine had for a sports manga one-shot based around pool (parody-ish, of course), which starred a character he named "Count M.C." after the same character (My friend's also a big fan of Gankutsuou/the original novel. Seriously, look them up. Good stuff, there.) So, yeah, that's sort of just thrown in there because I felt his name was even more manly with some initials _and_ a __Count of Monte Cristo__ reference in the middle._

The guy with squinty eyes who's always smiling: _He's more or less inspired purely by the anime clichés of having a (usually sinister) character who's always smiling and of characters whose eyes always appear to be squinting or shut. Think Seta Sojiro of Rurouni Kenshin crossed with Ichimaru Gin of Bleach (though I'm not sure I really intend him to look at all like that…)._

The tuxedoed Masters of This Particular Universe Such As It Is: _A sort of joke on the practice of referring to businesspeople as "Masters of the Universe," based on the fact that… well… technically as Disney executives, they actually _are _masters of the universe… of Kim Possible, anyway._

No-Face:_ No particular model here, except for the idea of a guy who speaks purely in execu-speak, (ie talking without really saying anything) who would obviously be in charge of 'spinning' things, and who also has no facial features. His name…is sort of inspired by "Noh-Face" of Spirited Away, but there's not really much similarity other than that. Referring to him as "the faceless man" is a reference to the novel __The Man Without a Face __which I haven't actually read, but which I stumbled across in the library while trying to come up with the rest of the Council of Eight, and thought it was kind of a cool title._

The Count: _In case you were wondering, this is really more of a __The Count of Monte Cristo__ reference than a Sesame Street reference, tying in with Gerard's middle initials. Mostly he came about because I wanted to have a badass executive named "The Count," since people who are known only as "The Count," tend to be completely awesome (The Count of Monte Cristo, Dracula, etc.). That he would be in charge of accounting just sort of followed naturally._

The Evil Mastermind's Guide to Vaguely-Defined Doomsday Weapon Science for Idiots:_ Seriously, 90 percent of doomsday weapons make absolutely no sense whatsoever, and are thus described in as vague yet scientific-sounding terms as possible. But isn't that part of what we love about them? And something about being simultaneously a "Guide to" book and a "for Idiots" book is just sort of amusing to me._

Drakken's use of product placement: _See the Campbell's Soup reference earlier. Just… don't think too hard about how Drakken has already had an influence on what's happening when they're rejecting his script in the next scene… Actually don't think too hard about this premise in general. I tried_ _to a couple of times… it wasn't pretty._

Beethoven's Fifth Symphony: _For those who don't know, that's the one that goes "Doo-doo-doo—" oh… um… I guess that's really not very helpful, is it? Well, go look it up if you don't know! I mean, it's freakin Beethoven._

The whole narrator fiasco: _Yeah… if you didn't pick up on it, there's implied to be a passage of time in the middle of Drakken's line immediately after the narrator's capture, only you can't tell because the narrator is apparently bound and gagged off in the corner somewhere. You see how valuable he is to the story? You should really appreciate him more. Just think what would happen if _he_went on strike! Hmm… ((Thanks the powers that be that there is no NGA))_

The "valuable-lesson:" _Don't you love things that are left open to the reader's imagination? I do. As long as the more insane fanartists aren't involved, anyway…_

Don Giovanni: _A famous, character who appears in a number of stories, plays, operas, etc. He was known for basically being a womanizer, and his name has in some cases been used as a synonym for that. I was tempted to go with his 'other' name (I have no idea how this comes about, my guess is it was that the character was used by authors who spoke different languages) of "Don Juan" as a pseudo reference to Les Miserables (In the musical, when Marius comes late to his friends' planning session for their attempt at rebellion and sort of mutters about this girl he saw (and fell in love with), Grantaire comments, "I am agog, I am aghast!/ Is Marius in love at last?/ I've never seen him "ooh" and "aah."/ You talk of battles to be won,/ and here he comes like Don Juan./ It's better than an o-per-a!"), but Don Giovanni seemed to sound a bit better in the context._

D6:_ A tabletop gaming (Dungeons and Dragons, Warhammer, GURPS, etc.) shorthand term for a six-sided die (not sure how obvious this was to the non-geek members of the audience based on Anne's response, but there it is). I figure, if Mr. Dr. P. is generally held to be a bit of a nerd and is confirmed to have written at least one fanfic, it's not that much of a stretch._

The past was alterable. The past never had been altered. Oceania was at war with—: _Okay, so if you didn't pick up on this, it's a quote from __1984__, in fact, from one of the very few segments of that book I've actually read. I know, I know, it's a classic dystopian novel, and I should probably read it, but you know what? I really don't _like _most dystopias, and as morbidly fascinating as it is to watch someone "prove" by complete BS that logic is, itself, illogical, as sayings go I much prefer, "Love is the only rational act," (by Stephen Levine, quoted by Morrie Schwartz in __Tuesdays with Morrie)._

_And so here we are at the end of another chapter, me having gone on far longer than was necessary about the origins of some of these ideas and obscure references that really don't suddenly become funny if someone has to explain them to you (most of the time, anyway). A-yep. Well, anyway, I hope to see you all in the next installment. I'll be right here, same Evil Disney Time, same Evil Disney… yeah, okay, too easy. __Till then!  
_


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